


Parseltongue Pretentions

by i3ernadette



Series: Parselmouths [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Familiars, Gen, Parseltongue, young!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i3ernadette/pseuds/i3ernadette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is summoned to a strange shop run by a strange man who is determined to find him the perfect familiar. The process is more complicated, and more enlightening, than either anticipates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parseltongue Pretentions

“Ah, the illustrious Mr. Malfoy.” Though the man’s words and tone reflected the obsequiousness to which Draco Malfoy was accustomed, his actions were far from deferential. He practically sneered down upon the short blonde, cold, bland brown eyes flicking over his quality garments and slicked hair, dismissing him for what he appeared, the pampered son of a rich tyrant.  
  
Draco, for his part, was decidedly unnerved by the man’s appearance. He was tall, haughty, in exquisitely cut fuligin robes that only emphasized his near-ascetic appearance. The harshly planar lines of his face angled up to razorblade cheekbones and though his nose was aquiline, it did not detract from his regal appearance. This, possibly, was the only man alive who could make Lucius Malfoy look slightly underbred. Draco felt like a Weasley under a microscope.  
  
“Sir.” He nodded curtly, breeding quickly overcoming his discomfort. “My father said you were to provide a service?” Very carefully he couched the words so as to imply that the man was little better than a servant. The best way to deal with those who make you uncomfortable, he had always learned, was to make them feel inadequate.  
  
The man’s eyes flickered, his nostrils flared, scorning the attempt. His voice, were it capable of expression, might have held mocking laughter. “Indeed. If you would attend?” He turned, left the small dark antechamber into which Draco’s portkey had brought him through the only door. The dark oak panelling of the walls was continued in the hallway through which they passed and on into the final room. Draco could see the shadows of flames dappling what he could see of the walls around the man’s form where he turned to face him in the final doorway. “You will tell no-one of what happens here. Is that understood?” Draco merely nodded. The man said nothing, so he choked out a “yes, sir.”   
  
“Then please,” his flat voice seemed suddenly less cold, less distant, “proceed.” He stepped aside, and Draco moved into the room. Into the menagerie.  
  
The walls were lined with images, portals. They looked at first like wizarding photographs, but Draco recognized the spell. They were windows onto other rooms where the creatures peering at him through the frames dwelled. Only the wall directly across from the entrance, the one he had seen from the hallway, was bare. Against this wall there rested a low sofa flanked by end-tables stacked high with books, books on animals and their care, on spells, on history, even a few sensationalist novels. The coffee-table before the sofa bore a scrolled wooden tea-tray with a sturdy china pot, a full cup of tea that smelled of lemon, and a plate of biscuits. One of the biscuits had been bitten. Draco looked at the man with surprise, which was only compounded when he realized that the man was…smiling?   
  
“Yes, you interrupted my tea. I do not, normally, permit others into this chamber. They stay in the outer room and I bring their animal to them. As no one could, however, provide me with enough information to make a judgement on what animal would suit you best, I was forced to allow my…” his gesture encompassed the animals on the walls, “friends to choose for themselves.”  
  
“Sir?” The missive Draco had received from his father had provided no details, simply the portkey and instructions to go outside Hogwarts’ grounds and use it. Draco had felt no small level of trepidation about obeying, but he was, above all, a dutiful son.  
  
“You are unaware of your purpose here, aren’t you?” The cold man from the antechamber had returned, his opinion of Draco overwhelming the pleasure he took in his animal companions. “When you received your summons, then, what did you expect?” He sneered. “To meet your father’s master?” The man’s voice held no fear, but was riddled with contempt.   
  
“No, sir. I expected my father.” Draco drew himself up, forcing ice into his own tone.  
  
The man examined him minutely. “Very well.” He turned from Draco to face the fire, a sharp-edged shadow against the orange glow. “You are here to choose a familiar. That is what I do; I seek to provide the closest match for a wizard.” His voice grew, if anything, colder. “You are young. You may make mistakes. If, however, you harm the familiar you take from me… Your father will be able to do little for you.” He turned back, and the eyes that had appeared so flatly brown in the corridor suddenly held the entire blaze of the fire behind him. “Is that understood?”  
  
Draco was taken aback. Though his father encouraged the practicing of hexes on animals, Draco had never chosen to do so unless under observation. He had even felt a bit guilty about insulting that nasty hippogriff when he discovered it could understand, and was rather relieved when it had gotten away. Though he would never, of course, have told his father so, he very rarely sought to harm anything non-human. He was even reluctant to cuff a house elf who failed to perform a task to his specifications. “Of course, sir.”  
  
“Then feel free to look around. Be careful, as some of the animals might not take to you.” The man seated himself on the sofa and took up his tea. Draco had already turned from him to peruse the expansive collection when he spoke again. “I generally speak to a variety of people so as to obtain an impression of an individual before I suggest a familiar. In your case, however, no two people seemed to share an opinion. It was…most peculiar.”   
  
Draco, caught up in the strangely reflective plumage of a magical scarlet macaw, cousin to a phoenix, barely registered the comment. He shook himself free of the hold the images reflected therein had on him and processed the man’s words. “What do you mean, sir? To whom did you speak?” Turning to hear the response, his eyes were caught by the vivid orange of a squirrel monkey’s feet and back. The monkey screeched at him, and he completed his turn.   
  
“Your father, of course.” The man almost spat. “Professors Dumbledore and Snape, your mother; I also observed a few of your dealings with friend and foe…” He watched Draco’s surprise. “I think, of them all, Severus Snape and Harry Potter know you best.” Considering that Professor Snape was the only person in whom Draco ever dared confide, and Potter one of his greatest enemies, Draco found that particular pairing unlikely. “Not that either understands you completely, of course. But Professor Snape seems aware of every…redeeming…feature, while Mr. Potter knows almost all of your buttons.” What Draco knew the man was leaving unsaid, if he had spoken to Lucius Malfoy, was that his father could push the rest. “They provide, however, a remarkably conflicted picture of you. The animals, however, are incredibly perceptive. They will choose wisely.” He waved a hand at Draco, who turned back to the wall, mind whirring.  
  
An hour later, he had worked his way almost all the way across the room. Though many of the animals were beautiful or intriguing, none called to him. The man, who had observed his interactions with them closely, looked as if he would appear bored if he let himself. The next frame, however, looked out onto a room full of lush foliage with vivid purple flowers, around which darted tiny rainbows. One, sensing Draco at the window, swept towards him and resolved into a tiny hummingbird before fluttering out of the frame and coming to rest on the hand he held braced against the wall. It cocked its tiny head at him, and Draco nodded solemnly back. It had a pale blue throat and chest, a long, needle-thin beak, and a green crest that dripped into rainbows down its back.   
  
“A blue-chested hummingbird. From Panama.” The man’s voice was surprised. “I wouldn’t have considered…” He trailed off, moving to where the boy and bird studied each other, considering.   
  
“Cerata?” The bird cocked its head at its name. The man put a finger to its back, careful to barely touch so as not to transfer oil to the delicate feathers. He cocked his head, and the bird imitated him. They bobbed at one another for a few brief moments, and the man broke contact.  
  
“Interesting.” He nodded at Draco. “You are stronger than I thought. Cerata has an idea.”   
  
“You talked to the bird?” Draco’s eyes were wide, darting between the man and the bird still perched on his hand.  
  
“Naturally. How else do you think I do my job?” He made a noise that was almost a chuckle. Whatever Cerata had said, it seemed to have made him feel a great deal more warmly towards the boy. “Cerata’s idea, I’m afraid, requires the use of a potion that I do not have to hand. Would Professor Snape do you a favour, if you requested it of him?” At Draco’s nod he continued. “Good. I don’t have the funds with which to compensate him to hand.”   
  
He moved to the fireplace, gliding over the floor. He took a handful of floo-powder from a small stoneware crock on the mantle and, to Draco’s great surprise, sank to his knees. He could have looked silly doing so - even Lucius Malfoy could not firecall without looking a bit ridiculous - but the man looked as collected with his bum in the air and face in the fire as he did looming in the doorway upon Draco’s arrival.  
  
“Professor Snape?”   
  
“Just a moment!” Professor Snape’s voice carried into the room as if from a distance. Draco judged that he was in his laboratory, while the fireplace was in his study. “Ah. Mr. Atratus. More questions?” His voice was carefully neutral.  
  
“Actually, Professor, I was wondering if you might be willing to do a favour for young Mr. Malfoy and myself.”  
  
“He is with you?” Professor Snape’s voice was sharp.  
  
“Indeed.” The man, who, Draco supposed, was named Atratus, beckoned Draco to kneel beside him. He did so, and found himself suddenly looking through a green haze at Professor Snape’s familiar study.   
  
“Hello, Professor.” Draco’s voice was steady, checking Professor Snape for clues of stance. Snape, recognizing Draco’s roving eyes, deliberately nodded and signalled ‘no threat’ by clenching and unfurling his right, or wand, hand. Draco relaxed.  
  
Eburnus Atratus, world’s only registered beast-master, made his request. “Professor Snape, we find ourselves in need of an _anguineus_ potion.”   
  
Professor Snape’s eyebrows merged with his hairline. “Do you, then.” He peered at Draco for a moment, measuring him, then returned his regard to Atratus. “I have the base for it here. Call back in forty-five minutes.” He turned his back and the conversation was cut off. Draco and Atratus fell back from the newly dancing flames in a sputtering heap.   
  
“Sorry, sir. Professor Snape turns off his floo when he’s working.” Draco wiped the soot from his palms onto the hem of his robe.  
  
“I’m well aware of that. It’s quite all right.” He rose, regaining with the movement all of his lost dignity. “If you care to pass the time with the animals, or reading…” He cocked an eyebrow in query. “I will return quickly. I’ve an errand to run.” He looked around. “Try not to break anything.” He moved through the door, blending quickly with the darkness of the hallway. The *pop* of his disapparation echoed back from the anteroom.  
  
Draco was momentarily offended, but that faded quickly into wonder. Atratus had left him, with very little in the way of instructions, alone in a room full of possibly-rare books and with access to valuable animals. His father wouldn’t even leave him alone in a room without a house elf for supervision. Admittedly, he said they were there to fulfil Draco’s needs, but as a house elf could be summoned with barely a thought, it was a feeble excuse. Carefully, he withdrew a book from one of the teetering piles,  Beasts Among Us: Bonding in the Wizarding World.  
  
Half an hour later, Draco knew a great deal about the different types of bonds possible between animals and humans, and had drawn some interesting conclusions about both Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes, and the Dark Lord’s snake, Nagini. He looked up when he heard Atratus pop back into the antechamber, questions pressing the tip of his tongue to his palate, but they fell back into his throat when he saw the man.   
  
His clothing seemed to writhe. He bore a night snake around his arm, a rough earth snake coiled loosely around his neck, and a massive, seven-foot indigo snake coiled up one arm and over his shoulder. The rough wooden crate bore a distinctive label, a sinuous gold swish spelling out **Henri’s Herpetarium**. A brilliant orange head popped over the edge, peering with seeming suspicion at Draco.   
  
“Draco, if you could attend?” Atratus lowered the crate cautiously to the floor, taking care not to bump any of the snakes draping his form. “They don’t like being so close together, but I didn’t feel I had the time to make multiple trips. Luckily, Henri talked them into behaving for me.” Draco stepped cautiously to the crate, peeped over the edge, and leaped back. The crate was a swarm of snakes. They writhed over one another, hissing and dodging, rough scales against smooth rustling in the background. The orange boa humped its way determinedly over the edge of the crate and dropped in a heavy, graceful arc to the ground.   
  
“That’s Mulciber. He’s a Brazilian rainbow boa. He’s just here to keep the others in check. Snakes, I’m afraid…”   
  
“Are the only creatures with whom you can’t directly communicate, right?” Draco interrupted. Atratus raised an eyebrow. “I did some reading while you were gone. You’re mentioned in the section on beast-masters. That’s really neat! Do you really think a snake might choose me?” Draco was showing enthusiasm for the first time since he had arrived in the man’s chambers. “But if you can’t speak to them…” Draco looked into the box of colour and curves concernedly. “Well, how will you know if one chooses?” He had read in the book that an animal would choose its bonded based largely on physical clues: taste, scent, the sound of their voice. The animal would then, however, ask a series of questions. The answering of the questions created a mindset in the possible bonded that was conducive to penetration. The animal would, as far as Draco could understand, read his mind. The way in which he chose to answer the questions would, regardless of the truth of his answers, also be taken into account. Draco didn’t know if the snakes, which were classified differently than any other possible familiars and could only talk to Parselmouths, could bond without the questions.  
  
“Technically, snakes can force their way into your mind to read the information necessary for bonding. It’s a sub-form of _legilimancy_ and quite possibly where the idea for the spell came from. It’s also the basis for the low-level telepathy they share with their bonded.” Draco was looking worried. “But we have the potion instead.” This said, he dropped the last of the snakes into the crate and went to fire-call Professor Snape.  
  
Draco dropped to his knees behind the wooden box, staying clear of Mulciber. He whispered a _lumos_ and held his wand over the box, that he could better see its shaded interior. The dim grey and black curves suddenly snapped into blazing colour, reds and greens, oranges and yellow and vibrant blue-blacks. Three snakes kept themselves a bit separate, hissing and spitting at the others.  
  
“None of them are poisonous.” Atratus had slipped silently to his knees beside Draco, a small vial of a viscous green liquid in hand. “The three in the corner have inter-bonded. They go as a unit, I’m afraid. Probably not the best for you, as you’ll have to keep your familiar as secret as possible. Snake familiars are a sign of great power, which is often mistaken for being the equal to great evil. And any familiar is a weakness.”  
  
“How did they interbond?” Draco looked again at the three snakes, woven tightly together. One was brilliant red-orange, another vivid yellow, and the last dappled silver. They all bore the same patterns on their backs.  
  
“They are all rat snakes, caught in America and brought here. During their travels, their case was opened by a muggle. Apparently they were misplaced and accidentally sold. They were confused, upset… After a time, they sought to bond with the muggle. He is in St. Mungo’s and they are… as you see them.” He waved a languid hand at them, and Draco’s attention was drawn back to the vial.  
  
“What’s the _anguineus_ potion?” He accepted the bottle from Atratus, holding his glowing wand-tip behind it, checking the colour and clarity.  
  
“Parselmouth potion.” Draco dropped the bottle. It thunked softly into the hand Atratus held beneath his, expecting his reaction.  
  
“That’s crazy! Are you serious? I didn’t know that was possible! Oh, wow!” Draco rambled, mind whirling with ideas. The study of potions was his favourite subject, and he normally read everything he could find on the topic, but he had never encountered such a potion before.  
  
“Not many people can brew it. Indeed, Severus Snape is one of a very few with that capability. As well as the ingredients to hand.”  
  
“Ingredients? What’s in it?” Draco, assuming that it wasn’t volatile, gently shook the flask.  
  
“Hair from a Parselmouth.” Atratus smirked at Draco’s recoil.  
  
“What? That’s got Potter-bits in?” Draco quickly handed the potion back to Atratus and wiped his hands on his robes.  
  
“Apparently, the potion is an extremely complicated derivative of Polyjuice potion. You are familiar with that, yes?” Draco nodded. “It acts on the vocal cords, rendering them capable of producing the appropriate noises, and then on the hindbrain. Were you aware that learning a language changes the surface of your brain?” Draco shook his head, but Atratus barely noticed. “Language changes the way you think Parselmouths have a switch, for lack of a better word. Focusing on a snake flips that switch, permitting them to think in the language of snakes rather than their native tongue. The potion morphs your brain, adding that switch.” He looked at the prohibitively rare potion in his hands. “Like Polyjuice, however, it requires a bit of the person to work. Unless you’d prefer that Professor Snape harvest some of You-Know-Who’s ‘bits’?” He chuckled at Draco’s moue of disgust. “I thought not. Apparently a Madame Pomfrey harvests some of Mr. Potter’s hair every time he finds himself under her care, for diagnostic purposes. As some of the potions Professor Snape has concocted for Mr. Potter’s speedier recovery in the past have involved hair, she keeps him in stock.”  
  
“Are you really going to drink that?” Draco, though he thought he understood, was still disgusted.  
  
“As are you.” Atratus’s voice was once again flat, but this time he was simply restraining his mirth. “Snakes, unlike other beasts, seek direct contact.”  
  
“Merlin, no!” He dodged away, but the hissing from the case drew him reluctantly back. “Do I have to?” His voice was plaintive.  
  
Atratus didn’t answer, but tilted back his head and tipped some of the thick goo onto his tongue. “Approximately one tablespoon.” He extended the vial once again, and Draco took it from his hand.  
  
The potion was sharp on his tongue, like biting into the bitter rind of an orange, but rather than the oils burning at the corners of his mouth, they stripped down his tongue and shocked the base of his spine. And suddenly the hissing made sense.  
  
 _Humans, welcome._ Mulciber, his voice as strongly sinuous as his body, hissed at them.  
  
 _Greetings, Mulciber. Have you a possible bonded for the little one?_ Draco turned in shock to Atratus, whose human tongue spat the syllables into the air as readily as Mulciber’s forked one.  
  
 _We have a few ideas,_ Mulciber turned his wedged head towards Draco. _Can you not speak?_ His tongue flicked with low laughter.  
  
 _I don’t…_ Draco stammered, then recovered. _Yes, I can speak. What would you have me say?_  
  
 _What you will._ He jerked his head towards the crate. _A few have expressed interest. They will come forward._  
  
Draco advanced warily on the crate. As with any crowd, the snakes’ voices wound together into a background murmur, of which only snatches could be understood.   
  
_You beast!_ A female red-banded pipe snake giggled at a Hufflepuff-hued banded krait. Draco marvelled that a snake could giggle.  
  
 _That, sir, was my tail._ A regal ring-neck snake, red, yellow and teal, drew his encroached-upon extremity from the playful ensnarement of a young, perky Sonoran whip snake. Draco almost giggled himself, as the garishly coloured snake sounded a great deal like an affronted Severus Snape.  
  
 _Keep away from us…_ That came from the triple-bonded, menacing an intruder into their corner.  
  
 _Quiet, all!_ They all fell silent at Mulciber’s command; he had arched himself up to loom over the crate. _Who among you wishes to greet the yellow human?_  
  
It seemed that the entire population of the box was clamouring to be heard. _Silence!_ Mulciber roared. _We will tip you onto the floor. You will stay in the centre of the room if you wish to greet the yellow human or move to the side if you decide otherwise. Whoever wishes may ask a question, but only one at a time. Understood?_ At the hissed agreement, Mulciber signalled Draco and Atratus to spill the writhing mass of snakes onto the floor. A few moved aside, including the regal ring-neck and the triple-bonded rat snakes, but most stayed in the middle. Draco took a tailor’s seat on the floor, just to one side of the spreading pool of serpents.  
  
 _Yellow human,_ hissed an innocuous lyre snake. _What do you want of us?_  
  
Draco thought for a moment. As he hadn’t known until he entered the room that he was to receive a familiar, and had only just discovered their benefits, he hadn’t considered the question before. _Power. Companionship._ With his answer, he could feel the strange insinuation of nearly a hundred serpentine minds into his own, each like a tiny muscle tic. Some recoiled. He could feel them retreating from his consciousness, and watched the accompanying bodies move away from him, including the lyre snake. Others moved closer.  
  
 _What would you do with this power?_ This voice was oddly atonal, issuing as it did from the flattened mouth of a dark red hognose. Though the species wasn’t dangerous, Draco could feel an odd edge of viciousness to the snake’s mental presence. He chose his answer carefully.  
  
 _Protect those things that are important to me._ The desire to control others was his father’s, not his own. Though, Draco admitted, he did not like to lose, or to be second-best.   
  
_Wise answer, yellow one._ Though many of the more viciously power-hungry had withdrawn with his last answer, this voice was calmly, almost pleasantly, asserting its dominance over the others present. The sentience he could feel at the boundaries of his own was wickedly edged with feisty humour, but almost motherly at its core.   
  
_Why do you call me that?_ Draco asked.  
  
 _We can hardly pronounce your name, can we? I could, if you preferred, call you by a variation on the meaning of your name—tiny dragon, perhaps?_ The snake, Draco now saw, was flat black, only a grown man’s handspan in length, coiled on itself. He did not recognize the breed. _I prefer yellow one. Although soon, perhaps, I might call you my bonded._ The snake’s quiet confidence had still more of the few remaining snakes, reading a great deal more of the conversation than what was said, slithering aside.  
  
Draco chose to ignore the snake’s comment for the moment. _What do you call him?_ Draco had intended to use Atratus’ name, but realized that the noises simply would not form. He could have spat it out, he could feel the switch in his mind, but he wasn’t sure that he could have switched back again.  
  
 _He is the black-clad one. I, yellow human, am Iris._ The name was literally ‘goddess of the rainbow,’ but somehow Draco was aware of the translation.  
  
 _Why are you called that, Iris?_ Draco was curious. The snake, excluding a small collar marking and ventral surface of white, was uniformly dark.  
  
 _Extend your magic stick, yellow one._ Draco did so, nearly dropping his wand when the end began to glow as if with a _lumos_ spell. Iris, in the bright light, no longer looked dull. She was still black, but her scales shimmered with a vivid iridescence, scattering rainbows as if she had been dipped in oil. She was beautiful. Draco reached out a hand to stroke a finger along her dazzling scales, barely registering that the other snakes had all disappeared from the centre of the room.  
  
“That was remarkably quick! And a surprising choice…” Atratus’ words were unexpected, falling louder than the hissing of Parseltongue into the near-silence of the room.   
  
_What do you mean?_ Hissed Draco, surprised.  
  
“Normally a bonding takes quite a bit longer. The faster the bonding, the stronger the connection, usually. And she used your magic so readily… Quite strong.” Atratus was scooping the snakes back into their crate, ignoring their indignant hissing.  
  
Draco turned to Iris, who had managed to slide herself through his fingers and up to his wrist. _My bonded?_ He asked wryly. _Did I ever have a choice in the matter?_  
  
He could feel her now, settling into his mind, slow warmth spreading like steam to fill his consciousness. _Of course not._ She seemed surprised that he would ask. He could feel her will, nudging against his, and he lifted her to spill down the collar of his robes. _We will get along well,_ she said with no little satisfaction. _Provided, of course, you do as I say._  
  
Draco sighed with faux resignation, quite content to do his newly bonded’s will.  
  
“Sir?” He turned with realization to Atratus, who had been watching the two with approval. “How will we communicate when the potion wears off. Will I have to keep taking it?”  
  
“Of course not. Your link with Iris is strong enough to let you communicate without words. You’ll feel her wishes, like a minor compulsion. Think of her as your conscience.” He laughed. “The link is, actually, fairly strongly one-sided. She can, as I understand it, rummage quite freely in your mind.”  
  
 _And it’s very interesting in here, too!_ Iris interjected. _You know all kinds of interesting things._  
  
Draco and Atratus laughed, and were still laughing when Draco felt a sharp pain, somewhere in his mind. “Ow!” He yelped, one hand going to his forehead, the other instinctively to Iris, slumped against his neck.  
  
 _I am sorry, tiny dragon._ Draco noticed that she had decided on that as an endearment. _I was angry, and yelled a bit. But I was still in your thoughts when I did so. I’ll learn._ She seemed forlorn, and Draco was dismayed that she was already unhappy in his company.  
  
 _What is it, bonded?_ He stroked a finger tentatively along her back, feeling slightly relieved when he felt her move into his touch.  
  
 _Not all of your memories are as…interesting…as I expected. I know, now, where your wisdom comes from._ Draco felt something a bit like a hug, somewhere in his mind.


End file.
